You Could Be Headed For The Serious Strife
by OdileWasAGirl
Summary: Evil!Sam and his life as the king of the damned. Warnings Sex, violence, blood, gore, abuse and war. SamOFC & SamDean implied


**Title** In The Afterlife You Could Be Headed For The Serious Strife

**Rating **Adult

**Pairings **SamOFC & SamDean implied

**Spoilers **Through season 3

**Word Count **778

**Summary** Evil!Sam and his life as the king of the damned

**Warnings** Sex, violence, blood, gore, abuse and war.

**Notes **This Evil!Sam isn't very likeable, don't read it if you can't handle it. Title comes Squirrel Nut Zippers song, Hell.

* * *

Sam sits on a throne of blood and bone, it's remarkably comfortable. 

The underworld is nothing like he expected, all it took was little old fashioned acceptance - now things are looking up. He finds out once you give in to the guttural wants and needs, such useless emotions as guilt and compassion start to lull into the background.

Yes, the heat is nice this time of year.

He oversees the most amazing acts; torture, murder, incest, pestilence, gluttony, lust. There's a laundry list of indulgences, but he finds out his favorites are agony and torment - in all forms. Something dark inside him that started out meek and mild has clawed it's way to the forefront of his soul, evil running sweet in his blood. He wouldn't change a thing now that he knows how good it feels to be the king.

Sam is accountable to one being…a beautiful, maleficent creature than fell from up high long ago, now lives down below. For the most part he's left to his own devices.

When he ventures back up into the world, Odile accompanies him. She's perfect in a way that only he can appreciate, lovely on the outside but purely wicked at her base, a trait she carried even in her once-human existence. Odile was a black swan in a white world, made her mark with pain and villainy, forcing screams from the mouth of babes. Now Odile scouts ahead, finding him only the best vile offerings. Scampers to him giggling with excitement, holds his hand while they dance on the fresh graves, urges him _one more cut, just a little deeper, make him beg, watch them bleed _and when he's done and the world has gone red with the fruit of his labor they sing songs of victory and wish the earth would burn.

Innocent children, grandmothers, men, women, the sick, the helpless - all are equal in his eyes. They're nothing but sheep ready to be led to the slaughter. _Mindless excrement _Odile will whisper in his ear _so pretty when their scared. Delicious when they're bleeding. _She is complete devotion, he never forgets but always pushes; bites through her skin while he fucks her, leaves her raw, broken and mauled. He leaves marks on her that would kill a human woman, listens to her scream in pain with his cock inside her, throws her to the side when he's done. She crawls back to lay at his feet, naked and dripping. Before long she's back at his right hand just as glorious as before, whispering _kill them all, we'll feast on their bones, play with their insides…Sam. _

Sam watches war, men fighting men, enjoying the irony; each side wants little more than freedom. He wanders the deserts at night, Syria, Saudi Arabia, Afghanistan, bare feet sinking into sand under a cold night sky. It's pitch black in the dead of night but he doesn't need to see, he can hear. Listens to bombs in the distance and the far-away hum of convoys rolling onward. The utter destruction they cause on their own is enough, his assistance is unnecessary. Odile dances under an Arabian moon, her body jerking in an awkward, offbeat prance to the noises of death and carnage, calling for him to join her in celebration _they tear themselves part my love, what wonderful desperate creatures they are. _

He watches his brother from a distance, never close enough to be detected. Watches Dean go through the motions of life, it doesn't get much messier than Dean. The man can barely function without him, instead wallowing in his own self-loathing and pain. Sam watches his brother go through the motions of a life half-lived; women, booze, violence and guilt. It's a cocktail to die for and Sam wouldn't change a thing. _You want him for your own _Odile urges, twitching in lunacy, pawing at his shoulder. _Imagine how fair, how pretty he would be with a heart of black _

Sam thinks on her words, but in the end he knows about the part of Dean that would do anything to be with him again. It would give his brother a kind of relief to be reunited, even if the reunion is shrouded in evil. Sam doesn't deal in wants and wishes and reunions, only fears and pleads and damnation. So he goes on watching from a perch as Dean slowly does the job himself.

And Sam dreams of Odile at his left, dancing in beautiful, perfect madness - Dean at his right, sitting strong on a throne of blood and bone all his own.


End file.
